


Drift

by beckett77



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Erik is Dense, M/M, Snow, Wistful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckett77/pseuds/beckett77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles let his hand fall slowly from Erik's face. "There's something so very emboldening about snow, don't you think?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drift

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for sweetheaven.

Erik blew out a foggy breath and stamped his feet, trying to warm them. "This whole country's a fucking wasteland," he said.

He wasn't impressed with his boots. They were the first pair of shoes he hadn't purchased from his favorite cobbler shop on the corner of an inauspicious looking street in Prague where loafers and wingtips weren't the only thing for sale if you knew the right shop clerk. By the time he was done with the remnants of name-stealing pig farmers and tailors, Erik had been very well-acquainted with the clerk. He didn't like owning guns, but he wasn't so stupid as to think being able to sabotage every one else's meant he'd never need his own.

"Erik," Charles chided, "you can hardly condemn a whole country based on its winter. Maybe Rus-er-the Soviet Union is lovely come spring. With friendly people going about the green countryside."

Erik snorted. "You don't believe that for a second, Professor."

"All cultures are valuable," said Charles, adopting his _I a man of knowledge and wisdom_ tone. The effect was undermined by his burrowing back into the thick woolen scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Well, there aren't going to be any cultures left, let alone people, if you two don't shut up," snapped Moira from the front of the formation.

The mutants let the conversation die. They were hidden behind a snow bank, waiting at the pick-up point for the cargo truck that was going to carry them to crash the rendezvous between the Soviets and Shaw.

Russia's biting cold was making everyone ill tempered and Erik never would have thought that he'd actually be looking forward to loading up in the back of truck again, but he could hardly wait for it to arrive. It'd get him out of the cruel wind and closer to Shaw. Excited tension made him quiver, a bowstring drawn tight, heavy with an arrow ready to fly.

_Soon, soon, soon._

Charles crunched closer to Erik. "You have to admit," he said, resuming their argument at a lower volume, "that the snow is lovely."

Light flakes began to dust over them, coating the soldiers' gear and uniforms, turning them into statues; they could have been ancient bronzes long ago mottled green and encrusted by the salt of the sea. Erik watched the snow flakes fall, trying to focus on the trajectory of only one at a time, but losing track of everyone he attempted to follow as they twisted through their also-descending brethren.

As Erik watched, one flake took advantage of his preoccupation to sneak up on him, and land on the bone of his cheek. His eyes blinked in stuttering surprise and Charles laughed aloud. Moira whipped around and glared at him.

Charles ignored her, and turned to Erik instead. "Friend," he said, reaching up to brush away the offending precipitation, "you should see your face."

His gloved hand was slippery and lingered against Erik's skin.

"You're only wetting me more," Erik said. Charles' hand had been on his face for several heartbeats too long. He shifted his weight from shoddily booted foot to shoddily booted foot, but didn't pull away. Erik flinched for no one.

Charles didn't drop his hand. "I suppose I am," the professor said, a strange quietness to his voice."But I've always liked the snow."

The professor went silent, and when it was clear Erik wasn't going to answer, let his hand fall slowly from Erik's face. Charles curled his fingers into his palm. He didn't look at his companion. "There's something so very emboldening about snow," Charles said. Erik wasn't sure if the telepath was addressing him or the sky. "It separates you from the world, walls you in and all the things that normally get in the way don't seem to matter as much."

Erik made no reply. It didn't seem like Charles' little speech about the weather had anything to do with Operation Ambush Shaw, so he really didn't have the time to give it his attention.

It was probably only the pressure finally getting to the naïve professor anyway. Charles had been hyperventilating on the boat ride over for so much of its duration that Erik had hardly been able to sleep for the loudness of his breath. Being this close to a violent showdown probably wasn't helping to ease his friend's anxiety. Maybe he needed reassuring.

Erik smiled at Charles. "Relax," he said, grabbing firm to the other man's shoulders, "No one will die - well, except for Shaw."

The professor eyes darted from Erik's hands holding tight to his shoulders to Erik's face and back again. A dull red blotched across his cheeks.

Concerned, Erik stepped closer. He looked into the professor's eyes. "Charles, I mean it. It'll be fine. Don't worry yourself to death."

Another snow flake chose that moment to land on the telepath's upturned face. He gasped at its sudden coldness. He looked like a flummoxed cow, and it was Erik's turn to laugh as he swiped the offending bit of snow away with his thumb, returning Charles' earlier gesture.

Erik touched the tip of his tongue to his thumb in unthinking experiment. The snow tasted of winter and skin, and Erik thought absently that maybe it was the flavor of Charles. "I think I rather see your point about the weather," Erik said at last, because he had nothing else to say and he didn't want the Professor to be anxious. He wanted him to share in the thrill of the hunt that coursed in his own veins.

Charles sucked in a deep breath and the redness of his face did not abate. He gave Erik a faltering grin, like his mouth was having a hard time deciding whether to frown or smile. "I don't think you do," he said, "but I'm glad you like it anyway."

What a strange fellow Professor Xavier was. Erik didn't have a lot of experience with friends, but he still didn't think that there was anyone quite like Charles. He was too mystical for his own good, but Erik decided that he rather liked that about him; he would take inscrutable and confusing over boring and useless any day.

The tips of the professor's ears got pinker. He cleared his throat, and Erik hoped Charles wasn't getting sick. He had never played nursemaid before and he wasn't sure how qualified he would be for the job.

Charles cleared his throat again, only this time there was a definite squeak to the sound. "I hear the truck coming," he said.

Suddenly Erik's head was filled with the mission again. He no longer noticed the snow that drifted softly, slowly down around them.

Beside him, Charles sighed. His cheeks were still flushed and his heart beat out a painful, hopeful pattern.

_Soon, soon, soon._


End file.
